Chapter 5: Nightmare or a risk
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Side by side, two teens were running in place before a water faucet and a poster. They couldn't be more different from one another if they tried.
One was all muscles. Tall and chiseled, with ginger hair and deep, blue, eyes. He had a straight nose and high cheekbones. His face was slightly tanned, as was the rest of his skin, although no one could tell, seeing that he was covered in a standard adventurer's uniform.
The other teen was in shorts and a T-shirt, already sweaty. His blonde hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring his green eyes. Maybe the girls who stopped to gawk at them could have given him the time of day, too, if he was not chubby, his fat jiggling with every move he made.
But there was one thing the two had in common. They both looked relaxed and were engaged in a conversation with one another.
"My party disbanded. The rogue doesn't want to go on without a healer," Morris said, a bit downcast. "And those are difficult to come by. I mean…. Who would say no to a cozy job at a clinic for this?"
Morris pointed at his adventurer's uniform. Standard form-hugging beige pants and a green blouse with a scarf around the neck. Leander had wanted to wear one of those, too. But they hadn't had anything in his size back at the guildhall.
"I am a healer," Leander blurted out. "But only… rank F."
"Really? And you took care of the dungeon all by yourself?" There was no mocking in Morris's voice. Rather, genuine amazement.
"The dungeon was just created," Leander downplayed his achievement. Truly, taking care of a couple of hamsters was nothing to boast about.
"Still, healers are not known for being able to do dungeon delving by themselves. You are something else. Hey, Leander, do you have a spot in your party?" Now, if anyone else but Morris had asked that question, Leander would have frowned and ignored them. But he knew better than to think that Morris was mocking him. The teen was too goodhearted for that.
"I don't have a party," Leander managed to get out, and then he pointedly went back to staring at the poster.
"Well, then, we can form one! I am a berserker, we just need a tank and a rogue, and we will be all set to go back to the slime dungeon!" Leander could hear the grin in Morris' voice. The genuine friendliness. And yet…
How was Morris expecting to get a tank and a rogue with a dead weight like him?
"I will just hold you back," murmured Leander, not taking his eyes off the poster.
"Nonsense. I am just ranked B, so we are not that different in rank. We have room to grow. Think on it," the final sand grain fell down, and Morris clapped him on the shoulder. "Same time, same place?"
"Sure," Leander whispered, winded and panting, and they slowly went their separate ways. As Leander walked to the library, he couldn't help but think that this was his chance.
For a party… for a friendship.
With a high rank like his, Morris would certainly find a party sooner, rather than later. And then, Leander would be stuck watching from the sidelines.
He decided to sleep on it, and to give his answer on the next day. Today, he went and looked at more mana related procedures. Something he had never tried before.
There were many things to look through. Regrowing eyeballs had a time limit and looked dead useful, so, Leander opened the heavy tome and began learning about the different areas of the eye.
The book claimed that, as long as the optic nerve was not damaged, an eye could either be regrown, which took a lot of mana, or transplanted, which meant nimble fingers.
As a side note, the author suggested crocheting to build up finger dexterity.
Leander went to the practicing room, took yarn and needles and began to knit. He had known how for a very long time but hadn't spent enough time on the craft.
Before he knew it, he had made a scarf. A nice blue color close to Morris's eyes. Deciding it would be a waste to throw the scarf away, he took it, paid for the yarn, and went back to the inn.
That night, he tossed and turned as he dreamed about going home with just the hamster dungeon to his name. Of his mother making him work in the town's clinic and in the restaurant in his spare time.
And, worse, of him eating cake and fried banana and all kinds of sweets. All that without doing his thirty-minute sessions. Until, finally, he got so obese he couldn't get up from bed, took to drinking, and died.
His bed soiled.
"No!" Leander screamed as he woke up from the nightmare, drenched in sweat. "Never again!"
He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He would stick to his new routine, make it a habit. But now, he had a craving for something sweet.
Leander shook his head like a wet dog.
Cake or happiness?
There was no middle ground. But there was an alternative to cake. Morris had told him what it was: a smoothie.
The blonde went to the inn's kitchen and made himself a cup of mashed banana with milk. He didn't add sugar. Morris had said nothing about sugar and, so, he didn't add any.
He drank, his brain registering the sweet taste and giving him a cocktail of signals that made him feel good. However, unlike the other times, he didn't feel guilty afterward. This was a healthy snack, no, a healthy drink. He had nothing to feel guilty over.
With the smoothie in his belly, he went back to bed. He slept much easier than before, actually managing not to dream about anything in particular.
He barely managed to wait until the meeting time, and actually walked to the faucet with the poster much earlier than he had to.
Morris was already waiting for him there, and that gave Leander courage.